


Grind

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis is concerned with Noctis’ new job.





	Grind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Technically, Ignis doesn’t need to stand in line. He’s on official business, having been questioned and sent by the king, and with a flick of his wrist, Ignis could have himself and Noctis at any table they wished with any drinks they liked. But Ignis has never been one to use his power that way, and he has a feeling Noctis, despite all odds, will want to wait for his scheduled break. Which blows Ignis’ mind. Because Noctis has spent all his post high school years up until a few weeks ago doing nothing _but_ taking a break.

Now he’s manning the register at a non-descript coffee shop in the suburbs, and as far as Ignis can tell, he’s actually doing it _well_. At least, he hasn’t gotten fired yet. But it could also be that the manager just doesn’t want to fire the crown prince.

Gladiolus, slowly sipping a plain black coffee, stands conspicuously close to the counter, eyeing up every single customer as they approach. Somehow, this hasn’t deterred the swarm of young women eager to meet the most eligible bachelor in Insomnia. The tiny café is filled to the rafters, buzzing with clinking spoons and idle chatter. Ignis has only made it halfway across the muddied tile floor despite already having been in line for a good twenty minutes. 

Ten minutes later, he _finally_ reaches the counter. Gladiolus grunts a bland, “Hey.” Noctis forces on a tight smile that has the three girls behind Ignis loudly swooning. 

A small part of Ignis’ brain can admit that the view is somewhat endearing. He doesn’t think so because of any foolish crush, but rather as a friend: someone that’s grown up with Noctis and seen him fight off formality at every turn. Now Noctis is done up in a crisp black uniform with a chocolate brown apron draped around the front and even a printed ball-cap. His hair actually looks brushed. If Ignis didn’t know better, he’d even think Noctis flossed. 

Of course, Noctis doesn’t floss, or wear ties, or do any kind of work at nine thirty-seven a.m., which is what the clock behind him says. As pleased with those changes as Ignis is, he still says, “We need to talk.”

“We don’t have Ebony,” Noctis deflects, completely ignoring Ignis’ serious tone. “I can make you a coeurl spice latte though—they’re really good.”

_Noctis_ actually offering to make _Ignis_ a beverage. It’s like aliens have taken over his body. “While your sudden interest in work is impressive, you must understand how suspicious this particular choice is.”

Noctis stiffens. “I like it here.”

“I don’t understand why—and neither does your father. _That_ is our biggest issue. Is this a strategically rebellious move? Are you planning to walk out when you get bored, despite the drama it will stir? Is this some cliché attempt to see how ‘the other half’ lives? If you actually do want to start contributing, surely we can find a better fit for you, preferably somewhere outside of the service industry.”

“What do you care? I’m getting up in the mornings and doing something, like you wanted.”

“I appreciate that.” With a sideways glance at the young redheaded woman busy making drinks, Ignis lowers his voice and tries to explain more firmly, “Noct, this behavioral one-eighty worries me. I know you’re intelligent. You have to realize this is the sort of grueling, dead-end, daily struggle that people only do because they _must_. You have the luxury of finding far more fulfilling work—”

“You mean work the papers will like,” Noctis grumbles bitterly. Ignis frowns, knowing that’s always been a contentious point for them, but it also shouldn’t be enough to make Noctis waste as much time and energy as he currently is. Ignis still can’t understand _why_ they even have to have this conversation. Especially given how many hours Noctis has been working, he can’t be having fun.

Their stare-off is interrupted by a freckled blond popping in, rushing out of the back and fumbling his apron on with both hands. With a huge smile plastered on his face, directly squarely at Noctis, he chirps, “Hey, bud—sorry I’m late, couldn’t get any reception back there...”

Noctis nods and maneuvers behind the blond without answering, reaching down to help tie the apron up. His hand lingers along the drawstring before he fully withdraws. The blond smiles even wider and adds, “Thanks.”

Noctis mutters a little, “No problem,” without quite meeting the blond’s eyes. But his body stays turned towards the blond. And there’s a slight flush on his cheeks. Ignis takes in how close they are—enough that their shoes are probably nudged up against one another, and Noctis doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving away.

The blond flashes Ignis a welcoming grin, then returns his attention to Noctis and checks, “Do you want me to take over cash? You’ve been on it all morning...”

Noctis suggests, “I think it’s Kairi’s turn? Then you and I can make drinks together...”

“Cool! Then I can yack to you about that boss I’m stuck on—but customers first, right? Did you get this order?”

Noctis finally turns his attention back to Ignis, but with that piercing, pleading, threatening stare that seems to be desperately asking/telling Ignis not to mess this up. 

Ignis was going to ask for the time of Noctis’ break, then stick around to deliver a proper lecture. But now he already has the answer he was looking for. If anything, he’s annoyed that Gladiolus didn’t notice and report this development sooner. 

Noctis presses, “Coeurl spice latte?”

With a half-defeated, half-exasperated sigh, Ignis agrees, “Very well.” He fishes out the money and tips, even though Noctis isn’t particularly friendly or helpful and seems more interested in shooting sidelong, pining glances at blondie than counting change. 

Blondie’s the one to deliver the latte, and Ignis is sure to get his name and shake his hand.


End file.
